I'm at this fucked up, high moral institution about saving women from the sex industry. I'm only here to have free donuts, and get the police off my ass. The head of the group, this middle-aged woman with a panty-line outlining her rear, just handed out sheets of paper for "journaling time". Here we go.
I'm not like every prostitute. I don't smoke cigarettes on street corners, but I chew bubble gum like an addict. Between cat calls and parading myself around like an esteemed giraffe I smack my double bubble. Sometimes I pull the wad of bubble gum out, and let it stretch between my fingers. Thank god my customers are paying too much attention to my ass or tits to notice the wad of gum being stretched from my front teeth to my pressed-on nails.
In middle school a boy called me a "butter-face". I asked a few people what it meant, but I only got embarrassed snickers and half-assed answers. A "butter face", according to urban dictionary is "a homonym that sounds like 'but her face.' To call a woman a 'butter face' is to say her body is very sexy but her face is ugly." I didn't spend an hour in front of the mirror crying to myself, followed by cutting my arms. The next day I offered that boy a hand job. I had never given one before, but I knew what it was from the stack of porn under my brother's bed. He got sweaty and embarrassed, his fingers were even shaking. Without saying another word, I pushed him into a closet and proceeded to unbutton his jean shorts. Sure enough I nearly clawed his dick off. He went running out of that closet with his junk cradled in his hands and his shorts around his ankles. Problem solved, I thought.
Before you start psycho-analyzing my life by interpreting my first incidents with sex as a "call for attention" or referencing my shit-for-brains parents as an "unstable childhood", I want you to know I didn't enter this business blind-sided. Prostitution has its evils, like every illegal trade. My heart goes out to the girls who are victims of sex-trafficking, who get addicted to drugs, or those that decide the boyfriend to have is a pimp. Most of these bitches are sitting around me, crying as they crouch over their sheets of paper. Some even struggle with writing full sentences, pausing between each letter, like first graders, to perfect the 'monkey loop' on the end of each letter. I even got a few glares as I laughed over my opening paragraph. These women's rights groups preach about how the sex industry subjugates women and leaves them as victims. Obviously, they don't see the intimate moments where men become powerless to my touch. Stiff-suited men have crumpled in my arms and let their eyes roll. Middle-aged, well experienced, men will stutter at their first words to me. Men, with wedding bands, have cried mid-screw. I'm not a victim; I'm the exploiter. I'm the conqueror when men, expecting to use me, find that they are powerless to an orgasm. "Oh baby, oh baby, I need you" they'll exclaim, and I now they are admitting this to me--a girl with a bulbous nose, squinty eyes, and acne scars. What animals they must be, if my ass can drive them this wild.
I've never tried to defend the sex industry or give reason to what I've done because right now I really want some Ramen noodles, and the next moment I'll want to paint my nails, and after that I'll be thinking about stomping that bug a few feet away. The moral complexities of prostitution don't riddle me because I am stupid. It's hard for anyone to admit that a child born in the United States could be inherently dumb. It wouldn't matter if I had listened to Mozart while in the womb or if my mother had enrolled me in one of those pre-school prodigy academies, because I could still listen to the three same Ke$ha songs for the rest of my life and be happy. I think simple, y'all. My thought process goes somewhat like this: have sex with guy, get money, OOOHHHH money!!! I want Outback tonight. And then I'll go have my medium-rare steak. If I could give any explanation to my simpleton, nearly neanderthal, behavior, it would be my mother getting high on laughing gas for ten years before I was born. She was one of those weirdos that just wanted laughing gas. She didn't have a meth lab or rub cocaine on her gums. She just loved that fucking laughing gas. She thought as simple as I did, like when we visited the Grand Canyon when I was seven. The park ranger told us to look closer at a rock formation far away. My mother leaned far enough forward, squinting her eyes like a puppy dog, and fell off the side of the Grand Canyon. She died, and my family buried her. Years later, someone told me that I could've made millions in a law suit. I told you, I have shit for brains.
Okay, this frumpy bitch is telling us that "journaling time" is over. She's asking for volunteers to read what they wrote. Fuck it, I can read out loud, I thought. As simple as that.
*writers note: These are not my finalized opinions on the sex industry. I have heard this opinion from prostitutes and porn stars, and I thought it was an interesting perspective. Please share your view on prostitution, womens rights, or how many comma splices I made.
I'm pretty sure my AP Gov class thought I was a tree-hugging, crazy feminist lesbian. I will go pretty far to defend womens rights, and I would consider them to be abridged in our seemingly progressive modern-day society. I think porn is demeaning to women, not only in the way the industry treats women, but also in the way it portrays women. I think it gives a disgustingly skewed image of how a woman should look and behave.
ReplyDeleteSo I don't know whether or not something is wrong with me, but this actually made me laugh out loud. It's an interesting perspective that I've never though of, but now that I think about it, I can understand it; I can understand the plea for empowerment.
On a less serious note: LOL she's dumb.